Golden Autumn
by Ariyah
Summary: Their trail was lost at the lamppost. But an aging Tumnus is certain that it holds the key to their disappearance, and he's determined to remember why. By Ariel of Narnia.


**Thank you to:** Two of my real-life best friends for being the greatly beloved friends you are and for being a part of our three-way story writing and sharing! (And to the one for the prompt. Who knew that "describe a walk in a forest" could turn into this? Okay, so maybe all three of us had an inkling there. :-D )

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except the trush. But then, the thrush probably belongs to Aslan, so I'm not even sure that's mine. ;-)

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The sunrise took great liberty in appropriating the forest's colouring of golden yellows, vivid reds, and harvest oranges. It was not, however, so discourteous as to not leave a gift in return, for the morning light streamed through the calvous trees and illumined each frost-bejewelled changeling leaf.

In the midst of this splendour walked a lone and equally autumnal sojourner. His face blushed at the kiss of the crisp air but his woolen scarf, though limp and faded, was brighter and redder. His curly hair caught and blended with overhanging twigs and was shot through with a frost all its own. Deeper and deeper into the forest his goat-legs took him. A Bird warbled a good morning, which he returned, and a couple of Squirrels chittered at each other in a nearby tree. The faun paused for breath at the crest of a little rise and wondered if he really ought to go on. He didn't remember the walk being so long. Not that it wasn't pleasant. In and of itself, anyway.

Tumnus started at a thick-furred white rabbit that bounded out from the bushes and then onto his path with a rattling of leaves underfoot. The faun smiled - somewhat bitterly - and decided to journey on.

The vibrant carpet of leaves underhoof wasn't quite as pleasant to his old feet as springtime's thick blanket of grass. But then, leaves were so much more fun because they could be kicked up by hoof or wind and could either be pursued or become the pursuers. Not that he felt much in the mood for playing.

But if he refused to play with the fallen leaves, the falling leaves insisted on playing with him. They fluttered down like great, bright butterflies, alighting on his hair, catching on his scarf, brushing against his bare arms. He allowed for a crooked smile: they rather reminded him of... well.

Presently, he came to a little clearing, and thus found he had been a great deal nearer his destination than he'd feared. As he remembered once saying, geography had never been his strong suit. He had said it right here, actually, by this particular landmark.

The lamppost.

That's where they said they'd lost the trail.

Tumnus didn't care.

Because he remembered something about the lamppost.

He just couldn't remember _what_ had been so terribly important about it that he'd come all this way to see it for himself. He was, after all, an aging faun.

He circled the iron tree about its twisted roots, studying the bar near the top and the little flame - though the latter was caged in frosted panes and nearly lost in the morning light. He set his hand on its cold trunk. And smiled. For it was here that he'd met his dearest friend when she was a good deal younger. He remembered that much. And suddenly realized that he hadn't been to the lamppost for quite some time. Perhaps she could jog his memory on what detail he was forgetting - ah, but she was the reason he was here at all. _Dear friend, where are you now?_

He gripped his horns and resumed his circling 'round the lamppost. How had it gone, their first meeting? They had met here... he was carrying packages and he dropped them when they saw each other... she helped him pick them up... they got talking... what about? was that when he'd mentioned his woeful lack of geographical knowledge?... then he invited her for tea - to kidnap her and take her to the White Witch, he remembered with a shudder - and they talked more... then he'd broken down sobbing... and he led her back here and she ran off...

Tumnus straightened and turned about him. _Where_ had she run to?

A thrush alighted on the lamppost bar and twittered at him. He looked up at it. Tumnus knew right away that it wasn't a Talking Bird, but he talked to it all the same. "I don't suppose you know where they are." The thrush chirped and twitched its head about, as though avoiding eye contact. "If that's how you'll have it, you could at least be polite enough to point me in the right direction." The bird danced on the bar, first turning its back to Tumnus, then facing him again. Tumnus planted his hands on his hips playfully. "If you're trying to tell me she went north that night, I know she didn't because I live north of here." He paused and added mostly to himself. "Look at me. Talking to you as if you could actually tell me anything. I really must be getting old." Its only response was to cock its head at him again before it turned to the morning sun and sang. Tumnus likewise faced that direction and was nearly blinded by its glory and the brilliance of the frost illuminated by it. He turned full away to recover. "Well, I know she didn't run east that night. Only ever since." Whether he said it for his benefit or the thrush's, he didn't know.

He forgot all about it the next moment, though, for he saw something: an imaginary woodland path illumined by the sun and shadowed by the lamppost.

West.

It seemed familiar somehow. He said the word aloud. "West. Wuh... west... war..." He shook his head, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was close. "War... war _what_?"

The thrush chirped from above one moment, then zipped into a bush standing sentry by that imaginary path. Tumnus took a couple steps forward without realizing it. "Warp?" he tried again. "Wart? Warn?" The thrush sang and rustled the bush as it flitted further in. Tumnus followed the sound, consciously this time. "Warm? Wharf? Ward?"

He paused at the head of the path. He could feel the sun beginning to warm his back. He could hear the soft sound of leaves falling upon each other. All was still. Then the thrush dared break the silence with a burst of song and Tumnus took off trotting quick as his little old legs could carry him. After only a few seconds, he thought he saw something ahead. Something softer than branches and a light quite different from the morning sun's. But before he quite reached them, another something caught his eye: a silver leaf among others of yellow and red. Tumnus stopped to pluck the silver one, but instead drew out a whole circlet of them. He brushed at the leaves on the forest floor and found two gold crowns and another silver one, plus four matching rings. He looked up again, expecting to see the curious light again, but it was gone. He knelt on the autumn carpet of the forest, cradling the treasures close as he mourned.

When he rose, he turned and faced the morning sun and dried his eyes and squared his shoulders. And as he tread the homeward path, he felt a peace settle over him. He paused to set a hand on the lamppost and stare as far east as his eyes could see, toward Cair Paravel. Aslan would watch over Narnia just as surely as He would watch over the kings and queens. Tumnus was certain of it.

Even if they were all the way west in War Drobe of Spare Oom.

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